aver One Thousand Plays sent to any address. 

|PS 1124 — - == 

'.B6 M4 
1859 
Copy 1 

[ETAMORA; 



OR THE 



LAST OF THE POLLYWOOGS. 



A BURLESQUE IN TWO ACTS, 



By JOHN BROUGHAM. 



BOSTON: t 

H . W . S W E T T , 

128 Washington Street, (Corner of Water.) 



\ Price, 13 Cents. 



THE LAST OF THE POLLYWOGS. 



IN TWO ACTS. 
BY JOHN BROUGHAM, 

AUTHOR OF " POCHAHONTAS," " COLXJMBXJS," " NEPTUNE's DEFEAT," ETC. 



BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED BY H. W. SWETT, 

128 Washington St. (cor. of Water.) 



a V ^ S'c'i 



\ • 



I£S^ 



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METAMORA 



THE LAST OF THE POLLYWOGS. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — A Wood. 
Enter Oceana and Walter, l. 1 e. 

Oceana. " Fathers have flinty hearts." O, what a bore ! 

Walter. So, my beloved, somebody said before ; 
But how to soften it fain "vvould I know. 

Oce. I, too, indeed ; I fear it is no go. 
Thi-ee times to-day I've dared my daddy's frown — 
Wandered forth unattended and alone 
To meet my love. And while through yonder wood 
I picked my steps, I didn't feel so good : 
A hungry bear I saw my steps purs\iing, 
'Which made me think there was some mischief brewing ; 
He licked his chops, and really seemed to say, 
«« My duck, I mean to dine on you to-day." 

Wal. How did you 'scape the awful danger, dear ? 

Oce. Well, do not interrupt me, and you'll hear : 
Just as my chance of life I'd given o'er. 
And thought the bear a most uncommon bore, 
The forest echoed with a mighty roar ; 
And soon I saw before my pathway stand 
One of the na-tt/ves of this favored land, 
With rifle, belt, pltmie, moccasons, and all, 
Just as you see them at a fancy ball ; 
His hair was glossy as the raven's wing ; 
He looked and moved a sort of savage king ; 
His speech was pointed, at the same time blunt — 
Something between a whisper and a grunt. 
«' Ugh ! " said he, *< pale-face, why linger here ? 
Afraid of that ungentlemanly bear ? " 
*• Just so," said I. With that he gave a yell, 

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CeENE I.] METAMORA, OH THE LAST OF THE POLLY^VOGS. -6 

So sharp, so lo'ad, the bear dropped do\\ai and fell ; 
Pierced through the brahi, he tumbled on his side, 
Instantly fainted, gave a grunt, and died. 

Wal. The nasty beast ! What 'came of his remains ? 

Oce. The noble savage took them for his pauis ; 
He said by his pigs he'd early been forsaken, 
And so he'd eat the bear and s;ive his bacon. 

Wal. And very pretty pork methinks he'll make ; 
He's made, however, quite a large mistake : 
He'd orter kept him until he was fat — 
* knows perfectly how to manage that. 

Vaughan. (^Wit/tout, L.) Where on air th's she got tew ? 

Oce. C) my precious wig ! 
Here comes papa : I'll quickly hop the twig. (^Runs otit, E. 1 E.) 

Enter Yaughax, l. 

Vau. Hello, young feller ! what is this you're arter ? 
You ham't seed nuthin', hev you, of my darter ? 
A tarnal spry young critter did you see, 
Pooty as paint, I swow, and just like me ? 

IVal. I scorn to lie, sir ; and she has been here. 

Vau. The dense she has ! "WTiat made her disappear ? 

Wal. I love her, sir, sincerely ; that's a fact. 

Vau. It's my belief, young feller, that you're cracked. 
By tarnal jingo ! here's a pretty fix. 
You love my Oceana ? 

Wal. Yes, like bricks. 

Vaic. Then let nie tell you, you confounded goose, 
It ain't nohow the smallest sort of use ; 
I've gin her long ago to some one else. 
So, you had best absquatulate, I guess. 

Wal. I shall not stir. 

Vau. You won't ? 

Wal. I won't! that's jflat. 

Vau. I'll knock you into quite a small cocked hat. 

{Prejmres to rush on him. IMetamora, outside, exclaims^ 
«' Ugh ! " OcKANA rushes on, R., alarmed.') 
Conglomeration ! What on airth's the row ? 

Oce. O dearest father ! walking home just now, 
Thinking of nothing but the right idee, 
To cook the flapjacks you so like at tea, 
I saw a beast. 

Wal. The brute ! 

Oce. I softly crept ; 
It was a weasel, and I thought he slept ; 
I tried to catch it, but — O sounds of dread 

Metamora, outside, "Ugh." Enter, R. 
Met, WTiy this alarm ? Don't fear ; the critter's dead, 

* Name of local hotel keeper. 
1« 



6 METAMORA, • [act I, 

Oce. (c.) Dead ! 

Met. As a herring. I knocked him on the head. 
White-livered cowards, let your cheeks grow red ! 
-He died like a Pollywog. He had to go, 
AMiether he liked the principle or no. 
His death you'll have to answer for ; one more 
To the black list of injuries we bore. 
Since the first white man trod upon our ground, 
Kubbed out our footmarks, that now can't be found. 

Vau. Come, that's ujibusinesslike and rayther green; 
We bought these diggin's — how long has it been ? 
Some himdi-ed years, or thereabout, I guess. 

Met. Nothmg ! an acre or a little less. 
O, you're good buyers now, just as of old. 
Pale-faces, tremble ! you may yet be sold. 

Vau. Look here, my friend, you raise my ebenezer ; 
And the probability is you'll catch a sneezer. 

Met. Thou ancient humbug, did ISIetamora puff 
A cloud of smoke, that blow would be enough 
To send thy soul from out its prison there ! 
Be calm, the Pollywog knows when to spare. 

Oce. Don't anger him. 

Vau. Bah ! I don't care a fig. 

Oce. Think ! he may scalp you. 

Vau. Can't — I wear a •wig. 

I say, you Injine, jest git up your steam 
And start, or else you'll find this child a team. 

Met. Old man, you've got the fire-water on your brain : 
You've drowned your senses. 

Vaic. Jingo ! not a grain. 

If you will fight, come on and mind your eye. 

Met. Ha ! ^Manito says it must be^ Die ! 

{Rushes on him. Oceaxa interposes.') 

Oce. Majestic savage, spare, O spare my dad ! 
Or if you must take some one, take that lad. 

Wal. No, sir ! Emphatically I object to that. 

Met. Metamora fights not, wars not with a rat. 
The eagle, swooping through the upper sky, 
Stoops not his mighty wing to catch a fly ; 
Nor can the red man's hatchet bend so low. 
Metamora cannot see you, old man ; go ! 
The spirit of revenge sits on my knife ; 
Yet, for this maiden's sake, I spare your life. 
White squaw, approach ! Don't tremble, for the storm 
Is past, and Metamora' s heart is warm. 
Here, take this tail, plucked from a mongrel rooster. / 

Oce. With pleasure, savage. Tell me, pray, what use, sir ? '^- 

Met. Wear this, and wheresoever be your path, 
'Twill save the bearer from the red man's wrath. 

Vau. Pooh ! not a bit of it ! it's all darned stuff I 

Met. The Pollywog has said it. That's enough. {Exitt a.) 



SCENE I.] OR THE LAST OF THE POLLYWOGS. 

Vati. Jerusalem ! but that ere red- skinned varmint 
Has given us a pretty tightish sarmint. 

{Sees Waltkr pantomiming love to Oceana.) 
Come, none of that ere sort of telegraphin' ! 
Get along home, miss ! I shan't stand no larfin'. 
And you, sir ! take your walkmg ticket too. 
Hello ! confound yeaour pictur ! stop that, yeaou ! 

(^Separates them. Exit Walter, l., Oceana a7id Vaughan, r.) 



Scene U. — Kitclien. Tapiokee and child discovered. 

Song, Tapiokee. Air, " O, slumber, my darling." 

O, slinnber, my pappoose ! thy sire is not white ; 
And that injures your prospects a very great sight ; 
For the hills, and the dales, and the valleys you see, 
They all were purloined, my dear pappoose, from thee. 

O, slumber, my pappoose ! the time yvHl soon come 
'N\Qien thy rest shall be broken by very bad rum ; , 

For, though in fair fighting the whites we beat doAvn, ^/ 

By a sling made of whiskey the red man is thrown. 

Tap. Like evening, when the sun's last rays depart, 
There's a deep gloom on Tapiokee' s heart. 
My husband is not here, nor do I know 
What in the name of wonder keeps him so. 
Sweet forest flower, why does yoiu- father stay ? 

Child. Mamma, I do not know ; but I should say 
You needn't put yourself in such a stew. 
He's using up those pale-faces a few. 

And when I have seen a few more snoAvs, \y' 

I can go slaying also, I suppose. 

Tap. Chip of the ancient block, life of my life, 
Ma5'-st never be whittled by a Yankee's knife. 
Hark ! 'tis thy daddy's step ; unbar the door ; 
I know it, though he's two rods off or more. 
See to the venison pies and apple fritters, 
And pour him out his tod of gin and bitters. 

Enter Metamora, d. in f. 

Now, Pollywog, what news have you to tell ? 

Met. Don't bother, wife ! I'm any thing but well. 
I had a nap just now, and dreamed a dream. 
O, how I wish it were what it did seem ! 
Methought the pale-faces were gathered all, 
Unarmed, defenceless ; on them I did fall. 
Pile after pile of dead I sent to sleep, 
Their red scalps streaming in a gory heap. 



8 META3I0BA, * [ACT I. 

From the gray morning to the set of sun, 
I killed and killed, till there was left but one 
Of all the mighty host. The craven, he 

Cried out while down upon his bended knee 

— ^up, "\Miat said the craven ? 

Met. ^^'Tiy, what do you think ? 

He simply said, *< Old fellow, let's take a drink." 
With a loud yell the bonds of sleep I broke. 

Tap. And then 

Met. ^^Tiy, then, as a matter of course, I woke. 

Enter Old Tar, with telescope, d. in f. 

Tar. Shiver my timbers, son of Massasoit, 
Blessed if I think your life is Avorth a doit. 

Met. Wliy do you borrow the pale-face's cheek ? 
"What makes the red man white ? now, prj'thee, speak. 

Tar. Splice my old pumps, you really take it cool ! 
Weigh anchor and sheer off, you tarnal fool ! 
There's a whole crowd of whites a-bearhig down, 
Scouring each Indian settlement and town ; 
They're steering here and on your very track ! 

Met. The Pollyv\^og will never turn his back. 
Say, where is Whiskee Toddi, skilled in talk ? 

Tar. Gone in the lager bier line m. New York. 
He says it's blarney, talking in that way. 
He says you never give him aught to say. 

{Drum^ tcithout.') 
Shiver my timbers ! Do you hear that drum ? 

Met. I hear it, and I ansAver, Let 'em come ! 
Let the pale-faces enter. I'll stay here. 
With calumet and knife, I do not fear. 

Tar. My eyes and limbs ! but you're a pretty goose, 
To stay here when there ain't no sort of use. 
Such stupid conduct is what I call mush ; 
So I'll cut pamter now. 

Met. Pray do, and brush. 

Good by. Old Tar. 

Tar. Well, Pollywog, good by. 

Take care of yourself; I've other fish to fry. (Exit, l. 1 e.) 

{Drum and fife, outside.') 

Enter Badenoitgh, Wobser, a7id soldiers, d. in f. ; march down L. 

Bad. (l. corner, to soldiers.') Stand to your arms ! 

Met. (r. c.) But why stand to me ? 

Wor. We're come to have a pleasant chat with thee, 
Old Philip. 

Met. "SMiat mean ye by Philip, you rude dogs ? 

I'm Metamora, chief of the Pollywogs. 
My ears are open ; what have you to say ? 



BCENE III.] OE THE LAST OF THE POLLYWOGS. 

Bad. Our cotincil's orders only we obey. 

Met. And what are they ? 

Wor. Your presence they require ; 

So, prythee, -quickly leave your kitchen fire, 
And get a ticket for the railway car. 
What answer do you send them ? 

Mei. I'll be thar. 

Bad. The ticket office we will quickly show, 
If you will condescend to come. 

Met. 1 know. 

Wor. Don't make a muss ; we can't return without you. 

Met. Pale-faces, Metamora's promise doubt you ? 
For thirty winters I have breasted the cold wind, 
And unto those who've spoken to me kind 
I have been very yielding, like the willow, 
Drooping o'er the streamlet's gentle billow. 
You move with a single arm. Not so the rock 
That does the tempest's rage and lightning mock. 
Seek not by words the Pollywog to scare. 
When his heart says No. I will be there. 

Bad. O gammon ! Eut you'll come then by and by, 
And no mistake ? 

Met. The Pollywog can't lie. 

{Exeunt Badenough, Worser, and soldiers, n. in f.) 

Tap. Will Metamora brave the cruel law 
The pale-faces have made ? 

Met. Wife, hold your jaw. 

GiA^e me the knife my father bore when he 
Killed sheep for Keyzer in the Bowery. 

{Exit Meta:j:oiia, l. 1 e., Tapiokee and child, n. 1 e.) 



Scene III. — Chamher. Centre doors, 4:th grooves. Table, L. 2 E., 
with books, 2)a2yer, 20cn, aytd ink. Chairs, R. and L. Vaughan and 
Walter at fable. Badexough, AVorser, soldiers, ^c., seated^ n. 
and Ij. Chorus, *^ Dan Tucker." 

We hardly can suppress our laughter ; 
We know right well Avhat we are after. 
Now, my friends, it's all U P 
With Metamora — he, he, he ! 

Vau. 'Tis plain that savage chap ham't been to school. 
WTio would have thought him such a tarnal fool ? 

Bad. He sucked our gammon in as slick as gi'ease. 

Wor. I wish we had some more on 'cm to fleece. 

Vau. We ain't a-going to fleece 'em, imderstand; 
We'll do the handsome thing, and buy their land. 
Without a doubt he'll sell it for a trifle — 
A few beads, nails, a penknife, or a rifle. 

Bad. Rifle's a good word. Hello, he's here ! 
Of what shall we accuse him ? 



10 METAMOEA, • [ACT I, 

Wor. Never fear. 

"We'll cook his goose. 

Ente7' Metamoba, c. d. 

Met. You've sent for me, and I've come. 
If you've nothing to say, I may as well go hum. 
What is it makes your old men look so glum ? 
And your yotmg warriors grasp their weapons so, 
As if they feared the onset of the foe ? 
Metamora does by no means like this fun. 
Come, tell me what the PoUywog has done. 

Vau. Philip, 'tis thought to us that you don't cotton, 
But rather like a possum you're complottia' 
With some of them cantankerous Ingines 
With us to kick up everlastmg shines. 

Mei. The PoUy^vog can scarce believe his ears. 
Do pale-faces take counsel from their fears ? 
AVell, I've got nothing more to say. 

Bad. Li course we has. 

Wor. So don't cut away. 

Met. What is it ? 

Bad. The thing we'd understand — 

"NVliy you put arms into each red man's hand. 

Met. To shoot Avith. It is not so great a sin 
As yours has been. Who gave my people gin ? 
■\Mio was it changed the Indian's native hue. 
With such \ale stuff, making the red man blue ? 
The mountain rivulet is made impure 
By the foul steam that rises from your door. 

Vaic. AVell, if you thmk sich things are really so, 
Sell us your diggins right away, and go. 

Met. Go whither, may I ask ? 

Vau. To Jericho. 

Met. I will not stir ; for INIetamora owns 
This very lot, and here will lay his bones. 

Vau. Shall we dally A^'ith this pizm sarpint still ? 

Met. Your serpent hasn't lost its power to kill. 

Bad. This is aU nonsense. 

Met. I'm going. 

Vau. Hold ! 

There are some secrets that must yet be told. 

Met. The Pollywog is listening. 

Vau. How died 

Old Sassinger ? 

3Ief. Ha, ha ! The fool was fried ; 

ISIustard, peppered, salted, and put down : 
So should a sassmger be served — done brown. 

Vau. Answer this question, savage, and be quick 
About it. 

Met. Go on. 

Vau. Who threw that last brick ? 

Met. Why do you ask me this ? What gain you by it > 



SCENE III.] OR THE LAST OF THE POLLTWOGS, 11 

Bad. We have a -witness. 

Wor. Yes, who saw you shy it. 

Bad. A man well kno•^^^l, a first class hatter's son, 
Bearing the name 

Wor. Of William Patterson. 

Bad. He will not answer, ^\'^ly, then, need we stay ? 

Vau. I really don't know what on airth to say. 

Met. Look at your book. Why, you don't know your part 
The Pollywog has got his own by heart. 

Vau. Bring in the witness. He denies his acts. 

Enter Anaconda, r. 1 e. 

Now tell us what you know of these ere facts. 

Met. Anaconda, are you the man — you know you are — 
I treated yesterday at Parker's bar ? 
Brothers, can he speak words of truth to ye, 
Filled full of cocktails that he got from me ? 

Vau. In coTirse he can, and will, Til bet a hat. 

Met. Anaconda ! — no ; I will not call thee that. 
Squirt ! say by these people you are led, 
I'STio've bought the sheep's tongue growmg in thy head, 
And you have uttered a confounded lie ! 
Well, goose, why don't you cackle ? It is I 
Command it — Metamora, and thy king ! 

Vau. Hold on, I say ! He shan't do no sich thing ; 
In sich proceedmgs there ain't any sense. 
He's frightening the witness. Send him hence. 

Met. I'll do it. To the shades be thou a passenger ! 
Black slave of the whites, go follow Sassinger ! 

(^Stabs Anaconda, 2cho exit, k. 1 e. Metamora rushes vp 
stage. All in confusion.') 
White fools, beware ! My knife has drunk the tide 
Of treacherous blood, yet is not satisfied. 
The spirits of the mighty Pollywog 
Stretch out their cowhides long your race to flog. 
And the big flood of the wild Indian's wrath. 
Like Mississippi's, still shall swamp your path ! 
The war-whoop startle you from dreams at night. 
And the red hatchet in the horrid light 
Of blazing dwellings gleam ! Prom east to west, 
From the north to the south yovi never shall laiow rest, 
But hear the cry of vengeance, feel the lash, 
Till, for the lands you've stolen, you've paid the cash. 
Ye chalked-faced humb\igs, tremble from this hour ! 
I smite your nation and defy your power ! ^ 

{^Throws hatchet in stage. Soldiers go dmcn, cross front, ajid 
present mxiskets to Metamora, icho seizes Vaughan and 
holds him fonoard as a shield. They fire.') 

TABLEAU. 

Quick Curtain. 



12 METAMOBA, ^ACT U. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — Wood in third grooves. 
Enter Fitzfaddle, loith a parasol over his head, l. 1 e. 

Fitz. Dear me ! what sultry weather 'tis for June ! 
I fear I soon should be a used-up coon. 
Where is my love, the beauteous Oceana ? 
She cuts me in a most peculiar manner. 
But that tlie thmg's impossible, I'd say 
There's probably a rival in the way. 
It is not ui the cards for me to fail. 
Who could resist cette magnifiqiie coup d'ceil ? 

Enter Oceana, l. 1 e. 

Comment vous 2>ortez-vous cejour, ma chere? 
Je suis ravi de vous voir, by gar ! 

Oce. Don't talk your foreign gibberish to me. 

Fitz. Don't call it gibberish, ma belle amie; 
'Tis French, ma chere, a pretty tongue, and gay, . 
La langue du cceur, d' amour, et liberti. 

Oce. I don't know what you say. Give over, do. 

Fitz. Idole de ma vie ! ah, je vous aime beaucoup. 

Enter Vaughan, l. 1 e. 

Vau. That's right, now ; coo away, my turtle doves ; 
You match each other like a pair of gloves. 

Oce. They must be odd ones, then, papa, that's all, 
For that " kid " don't agree with me at all. 

Fitz. O, parlez not so ! miserable mot ! 
Vous ties trts cruelle, mademoiselle. Pourquoi? 

Vau. Eternal pickles upon sich a tongue ! 
If I know what he says, may I be hung ! 
Say, if you want !Miss Oceana's hand, 
Jest jerk a lingo we can understand. 

Fitz. Pardonnez-moi, mon ph'e that is to be. 

Vau. Speak English, darn yer pictur ! 

Fitz. Old, sir-ee. 

Vau. Then do it quick ! 

Oce. . *» Nor leave the task to me." 

Vau. At once, then, children, let me join your hands. 

Oce. Forbear a moment ; I forbid the banns. 

Vau. What for ? By gracious, this is rather cool ! 

Oce. Because I don't exactly like a fool. 

Fitz. Mortdemavie! I mean that's rather rude. 

Oce. I'm glad you find it so ; I meant you should. 

Fitz. Monsieur, that is, Sir, have I yoiir consent ? 



8CBNB II.] OR THE XAST OP THE POLLTWOOS. 13 

Vati. I told you so before. (Goes np and comes down E. corner.') 

Fitz. Then I'm content. 

She shall be mine. 

Oce. She shan't ! 

Fitz. "Wliy, then, I swear 

I must use violence ! Sacre ionnerre ! 

Oce. Is there no help ? "Walter, on thee I call. 



y 



Enter Walter, l. 1 e. 

Wal. Walter's beside thee, love. No need to bawl. 
Vau. Tear them asunder quickly ! That's the way 
I've seen the thing done often in a play. 

Wal. My love, in vain I try thy grief to soothe. 
Oce. The course of true love never did run smooth. 

{Indian yell without ^ R. 2 e.) 

Enter Metamora, Old Tar, and Indians, r. 2 e. 

Met. Down with them all ! Scalp every mother's son ! 
Oce. And serve 'em right ! But what have the daughters done ? 
Met. Don't spare a soul, not e'en the squaw so pale. 
Oce. Stop ! don't you recollect this rooster's tail ? 
I place it here upon my father's breast. 

Met. Nuff sed. The Pollywog respects the past. 
Away, and quit my sight ! my rage shall cease. 
But for that tail, you all were quite gone geese. 
To save your lives is now, I know, absurd. 
But Metamora never broke his word. 

{Exeunt Walter, Yaughan, and Oceana, l. 1 e. Business, 
and Metamora exit, r. 2 e. Business of Fitzfaddle and 
Indians, after which all exeunt, R. 2 E.) 



Scene II. — Front Wood. 

Enter Badenough and Worser, l. 3 e., dragging in Tapiokee. 

Bad. (r.) Come, now, we'll shoot you if we don't obtain 
Your name. 

Tap. (c.) Poor Indian cannot help the pain, 
But she can do what few can do among »/ 

Your white squaws. 

Wor. (L.) What's that ? 

Tap. She can hold her tongue. 

Bad. It's very easy for you to say that. 
But that you won't I'm free to bet a hat. 

Tap. Won't what ? 

Bad. Keep silent for a moment steady. 

Tap. Done for a hat. 

Bad. You've lost it, ma'am, already. 

2 



14 METAMORA, * [aCT il. 

Tap. The ivhite man is a fox in these ahodes. 
Bad, I'll tiouble you to name your hatter. 
Tap. Rhoades. 

Bad. I'll stick you for a F", then, by and by. 
]P.u t np-y y to business, ma'am : prepare to die. 



Enter Vaughax, "Walter, and Fitzfaddle, l. 1 e. 

Vail. "Who are you talking to in that ere lingo ? 
It's Metamora's squaw, by tarnal jingo ! 
He spared oxir live.>, and 'tis but right we should 
Kill off his squaw to show our gratitude. 

(Tapiokee kneels to Fitzfaddle, xcho repulses her. Business.) 

E7iier Metamora, tcith rifie, hurriedly, n. 2 E. 

Met. Hello, here ! which of you has lived too long ? 
Pale-faces, this is coming it too strong. 
One tear from Tapiokee, and, by thunder, 
The axe shall hew your quivering limbs asunder. 
One hair from Tapiokee's head, yoii'll find 
The ashes of your bones upon the Avind ! 
Ye lily-livered crcAv, go ! quit my f-ight ! 
You'd best ; the Polly wog is full of fight ! 

(Exeunt all but Metamora and Tapiokee.) 

Tap. AVorn with fatigue the Polly wog must be. 
Shall Tapiokee make a cup of tea ? 

Met. No, my love, no ; my nerves are too refined : 
They cannot bear excitement of that kind. 

Enter Old Tar, l. 1 e. 

Old Tar, my hearty, what have you got new ? 

Tar. Something that's prett}' sartin to rile you : 
You know Kantshiae, the medicine man, who fills 
Our hold with Indian Vegetable Pills ! 

Met. I do. 

Tar. He's in a most amazin' fi-ight, 

The swob, from something that took place last night. 
He comes a-bearing down upon the swell, 
Just like a seventy-four, that same to tell. 

E7ifer Ka^ttshine, l. 1 e. 

Met. Old hoss, have you been walking in your sleep ? 
Or are you mesmerized ? He's tight' s a peep ! 

Kant. It's nothing of the sort ; so there you're out. 

Met. Well, then, what makes you waddle so about ? 

Kant. The Smiths have with the Joneses met, and Brown, 
Jones, Black, and AMiite, to pull the red man down. 



SCENE II.] OR THE LAS.T OF THE POLLY-WOGS. .I^S 

In point of fact, — and here my story ends, — 
We're flummuxed, and we haven't got no friends. 

MeL Flummuxed ! Ha 1 why do you think this ? Ho I 

Enter Indians^ R. 1 E, 



Kant. \\Tiy, last night, feeling sort of how-came-you-so, 
Considerably corned and rather fly. 
They in the bar room wouldn't let me lie ; 
And ere I could a single sentence utter. 
They flung me headlong out into the gutter ; 

And there I saw a poor benighted pig _ / 

Food from the pavement trying for to dig, 1/ 

But couldn't come it. AVhen the beast I saw, 
I thought of you, and bellowed out, " lli-yaio ! " 
He cut and ran, which tells me, without fail, 
The whites will win, the Pollywog turn tail. 

Met. And have you spread about this rigmarole ? 
Kant. I didn't do nothin' else, 
3/g;, You sttipid fool ! 

Begone ! you make the air unwholesome round 
The Frog Pond. 

Kant. Then blow me if I'm found 

About these diggins long. My patience welts. 
By Judas \ I'll be off to catch some smelts. iExit^ L, 1 E.) 

Met. AVhy do you hang your head ? Is it for fear ? 
Tap. It's more than probable, I think, my dear. 
Met. Say, is it your intention to show fight ? 
Tar. Well, then, I rather gaiess we won't to-night* 
Since on life's voyage this 'ere child was shipped, 
He hasn't seen no fun in getting whipped. 
Tan. Can it be possible the Pollywog 
Willscoot from danger like a ditch-born frog ? 
If you don't quickly rush upon the foe, 
I swear to gracious, I myself will go. 
And with my single arm strike thousands do-wn. 
Until the whites are done exceeding brown. {Exit, L. 1 E.) 

Met. Eouse up, ye Pollywogs ! for, like a coal, 
A woman's words have kindled up my soul I 
A burning heat, more terrible by far 

Than blazing mountain or a lit cigar. ' > 

Go, warriors, and recollect the eye \/ 

Of a Howard Athenceum audience is on ye. Fly ! 

{Exeunt all but Metamora, L. 1 E.) 
It's very probable j^ou'd like to know 
The reason why the Pollywog don't go 
With his red brethren. Pray take notice, each, 
He stops behind to have an exit speech. 

And here it is : — {TaJces stage.") 

Into the foe a feet or two I'll walk ! 
Death or my nation's glory ! That's the talk. {Exit, l. 1 E.) 



W METAMORA, *[aCT H. 

Scene HE. — Landscape, fifth groove. Bridge across stage with return 
piece, L. 

Tapiokee andxhild discovered, b. ti. b. 

Song, Tapiokee. 

Hush-a-by, baby, on the tree top ; 
I've got no cradle, so thee I must rock ; 
If the whites come, upon us they'll fall, 
Then do-^Ti will go baby, mamma, and all. 

Tap. "Wake up ! Good gracious me ! I do declare ! 
In thas last sleep, I've lost my son and heir. 
"Well, I must bear it calmly, I suppose. 

Child. Ma! ma! 

Tap. WeU, what ? 

Child, I want to scratch my nose. 

Enter IMetamora, l. v. e. 

Met. My forest flower, why do you look so sad ? 

Tap. Alas ! look there ! No longer you're a dad. 

Met. What ! dead ! The Polly^'og is now bereft 
Of all. There's no more of the same sort left. 
If fate had not come first, I should have had, 
"With my own knife, to slay the gentle lad. 

Tap. Do tell ! What for ? 

Met. To others we'll give place. 

The Pollywogs have wriggled through their race. 

Enter Fitzfaddle, l. 1 e. 

Fifz. Norn du diable ! I have lost my way. 

Tap. That is the man insulted me to-day. 

Met. Ha ! the fierce spirit's howling for its prey! 

Fitz. 3Ion cher homme rouge, quel est lejoli row ? 

Met. I have no time to listen to you now. 

Fitz. What have I done ? You'll tell me, I suppose ? 

Met. Didn't you put your thumb up to your nose, 
And tear your skirt away when she clung to it ? 

Fitz. No, no, no. 

Met. No ! Liar, I saw you do it ! 

Take your change of this. (Stabs him.} 

Fitz. Be quiet, do ! 

I'm settled. Je stiis iin mouton perdu. (Dies, left comer.") 

Met. Don't you feel honored, sir ? You've lost yoiir life, 
And by no common weapon — Metamora's knife. 

(Noise without, •• Follow, follow ! ") 
Hark ! the pale-faces come. My wife and I, 



8CINB III.] OB, THE LAST OF THE POLLTWOGS, 17 

I have reason to suppose, must shortly die. 
My Tapiokee, would you like to make 
Vile pumpkin pies, or hominy, or bake 
Innocent sheep to feed the appetites 
Of the insatiate and carnivorous whites ? 
^Tap. I ratner "guess I wouldn't. I'li tell why : " ^"^ 

You've often told me never to say die. 
If it amuses you my blood to shed. 
Don't say another word, but go ahead. 

(Metamora stabs her; she falls and dies, n. 3 E.") 
(Vaughan, Walter, Oceana, Badexough, Worser, Old 
Tar, Kantsiiixe, soldiers, and Indians, cross bridge from R., 
and come doivn L.) 
Vati. Philip, you're our captive. Nary bail. 
Come, lads, just quick convey him to the jail. 
Fitzfaddle dead ! O, cry, you villain deep. 

Met. Pooh ! nonsense, sir. I did it in* my sleep. 
Vau. Humbug ! My friends, that gammon will not do. 
"Why don't you grab him now, you lazy crew ? 

Met. " Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 
From its firm base as soon as I ! " 

Stay, stay ! I find I've made a small mistake. ^ 

These lines are in the Lady of the Lake. 

Bad. Come, let us take you quickly to the jail. 
Met. Metamora, pale-face, don't mean to turn tail. 
Wor. Come and be hanged, then, right off, won't vou ? 
Met. ' No. 

Vati. Well, if the fool will neither stay nor go, 
Let's shoot him in the cranium or the eye. 
Bad. Nuff sed. 
Met. The Pollj^^-og don't fear to die. 

(Metamora goes 2ip c, a7id takes his ground firmly. Bad- 
exough advances first, and s?iaps micsket, then crosses to R. 
corner. Worser does the same. At each shot, jNIetamora 
jumps and staggers as if shot. Vaughan goes up and snaps 
pistol at him. ^Metamora jumps very high and falls, c. 
Badexough, Worser, and Vaughan go up stage, and shoot 
him icith popguns.^ 
Vau. That's killed him. 

Met. Not quite, but near enough, I hope. 

I feel it's almost time for me to slope. 
The red man's fading out, and in his place 

There comes a bigger, not a better, race. ly^ 

Just as you've seen the squirming Pollywog 

In course of time become a bloated frog. (Dies.) 

(Burlesque combat by every body ; all fall and die.) 

Chorzis, <' We're all nodding." 

We're all dying, die, die, dying, 
We're all dying just like a flock of sheep. 
2» m 



18 METAMORA, OR THE 1.AST OP THE POLLTWOGS. [ACT U. 

Solo, Metamora. 

You're all lying, lie, lie, lying, 

You're all lying ; I wouldn't die so cheap, 

MeF.' {Risc-s.^ Conibund your skins, 1 will not aie to please jou. 

Ta]). (^Bises.) I shall get up too, if that is your game. 

Vau. i^Rises.') That's a good move, and so I'll do the same. 

(^All rise.") 

Met. And nothing now remains for us to do 
But make the usual appeal to you. 
Although they tell us money now is tight, 
Do pray accept our little bill to-night. 
You " Pocahontas" saved. I'm an implorer 
That you will do as much for " Metamora." 



Solo, Metamora. 

If you would look out for pleasure, 
Come in here, each jolly, jolly dog, 

And you'll find it without measure, 
To support the PoUywog. 

Chorus. 
PoUywog, Polly, Polly, Pollywog, &c. 

Comic Dance. 

Tableau. 

CURTAIN. 



^T-.^^5;>-^/V. 




9 



*^^''^^-f. 





4^ 



PROVERBS 

OE THE 

WISE SAWS, 

OF OUR 
WISEST POET, COLLECTED INTO A MOUEUN INSTANCE. 



By MARY COWDEN CLARKE, 

AUTHOn OF CONCOBDAKCE TO 8HAKBPEARK. 



Patch grief with proverbs." Much Ado. 

'Have at you with a proverb." Comedy qf Errors. 




BO STON : 
H. W. SWETT. 




^\j\J5r^JS 




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